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I compartmentalised friends as ‘normal’ and ‘not normal’. Mila was undoubtedly ‘not normal’, bitch or lover, take your pick. How we met was unexpected. Missing my train, I cursed the appalling weather and retreated to the station café. Working as a waitress, she looked familiar, yet I could not place her. She wore a neutral expression that veered between don’t-fuck-with-me, and a sunnier disposition reserved only for women. Then, she caught my eyes and gave me that look. It caught me unawares, and I quivered inside. After too many stolen glances, I knew what she wanted and found her on her break; the polite chit-chat was mere ceremony. Mila accepted my invitation to meet for a coffee away from here the following week.She chose a black pinafore dress over a tight white bodice. Feminine, revealing enough, it veered towards the submissive. I recalled where I’d seen her before… at Liberty’s, our local swinger’s club. People look different with their clothes on. As I broached that subject, she impressed me. Perfunctory, with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders, its connotations made what happened next a nailed-on certainty.It might seem strange to call this a hobby – fucking for fun. Dispassionately, it was just that… a pastime. You might think this was easy to do, but it wasn’t. Call me what you like, and I would agree with you; call me that in the heat of passion, I’d drain your balls or stick my tongue up your cunt until you climax. If you understood my life to date, you would understand my motivations.Mila chose to be single, and we shared that in common. She had as much bad luck with men as I did. Whilst I avoided them in my ‘normal’ life, Mila could not due to her line of work, and she had the strength of personality to carry her. We shared the same laissez-faire attitude to sex and the same ideal that variety was the spice of life. We held the same beliefs: do not wreck anyone’s relationship or hurt anyone. You would never wish it on your worst enemy when it’s been done to you.At Liberty’s, we usually went together when we felt the need. There were many reasons someone chose this path to get their rocks off. Messy reasons were expected; an unhappy relationship and an unaware spouse were typical. People will deceive others to get laid, and some will not. Age brought wisdom to spot the warning signs. There were many flaky people out there, and they would only be sorry if they got caught. Maybe that was why Mila and I stuck together. I had that sixth sense, and despite her brusque demeanour, she did not.Mila and I had been at it for months. Occupying an exotic hinterland, what we had was not a relationship or something with a strong emotional attachment. Ours was a shared empathy, travesti istanbul and whilst the temptation was there to overanalyse it, we were together for mutual support. Saying we were friends was too much, but we were more than acquaintances.Friends with benefits sounded trite, fuck buddies was a little too coarse. Lovers? Mila’s emotions were kept well hidden. I guess it defied any description, which is why I was so enamoured with her; she was a challenge. I liked to think we were together for the intense sexual chemistry, not that Mila would ever say anything of the sort.Lathering on more foam, I washed her from my body. The heavy suds slapped against the shower tray and echoed off the tiled walls. Licking my lips, the tang of her sex remained. It was a shame. I was not sated, I ached for more, but my mind was made up. Someone else would do that. I was going out and did not want to smell of L’eau du Cunt in the supermarket.It would be conceited to label myself this way; more than one person described me as statuesque. I was the product of generations of handsome farmers and the fair maidens they married. I was never slight in build but well-defined and bullied as a child for rolls of puppy fat. It was a miserable existence as I grew up, and my self-confidence never flourished. The strength of my personality and acts of kindness won me friends; I was never part of the ‘it’ crowd.The hard work at the farm and the constant activity paid dividends. I owed it to the fresh air, hearty food, and hard work. From an ugly duckling, I grew taller and transformed into a more gracious swan. My features slimmed and shone through. Tall and svelte, my curves developed from my broad shoulders downwards, deeply cupped breasts, a cinched waspish waist, slender hips and lithe limbs.Soon, I attracted admirers, so I tortured my former detractors with tight tops and shorts. I let them stew in their lust, and none of them would ever have me. Such was my appreciation after those years of torment; I vowed to treasure my body and look after it. I grew up in an unremarkable rural village, the craving became too great, and I married the man that made me into a woman. Like many in Ireland, it was a shotgun affair arranged in haste.Now, it was a war of attrition against Old Father Time, Mother Nature, and gravity. I worked hard in the gym to hold myself together. Gone were the days of eating what I liked and getting away with it. From head to toe, the ratio of my shoulders, waist and hips remained in proportion to my height. Ten years ago, I turned heads, less so these days when I encouraged it. Still, those that admired me knew what they wanted.Tepid water ran over the heft of my breasts. They istanbul travestileri were moulded to my frame with a little overhang and were not around my knees yet. Guiding the sponge around my midriff, I might be a little fuller in the waist compared to my slender twenties. I snorted at the thought… my slender twenties.I bore twin girls at eighteen, and my youthful body snapped back into shape. How little did I know back then, bearing children at that age with shallow hips? Fingering the fine line, a faint scar from the inevitable caesarean, I snorted again.“Out through the sunroof,” my ex-husband used to say.Dried and wrapped in a satin robe, I returned to my bedroom.“Come back to bed.”I tutted, “Mila, you make it sound like the middle of the night, not a Saturday lunchtime.”That was her in a nutshell: impatient.I needed to know if Jack was still out there. Peering back through the blinds, he was the more significant distraction in that t-shirt stretched taut by his muscular body. Now, I had the advantage of carnal knowledge. Of course, he was nervous, it was as close to vanilla sex as I would tolerate, but he had something. All week, I remained undecided, and it nagged as an itch to scratch. I decided he was someone I wanted to sample again. Besides, sex the second time is infinitely better than the first.Washing his car again was the opportunity I had waited for all week. I was not so brazen to knock on his door and devour him. Our proximity to each other brought me close to the demarcation line between ‘normal’ and ‘not normal’, and discretion was the safest option. Five days of uncertainty had come to this, and not even Mila could divert my attention.“Come back to bed, Iona… please.”I tutted again and gave a playful smile. Looking at Mila, the venetian blinds scythed sunlight into stripes of shadow over her body. Her lips curled, amused with herself, and those sultry eyes conveyed an overt hunger.This late-spring heatwave was a portent of the summer to come. Hot, sticky, and intemperate all week, who better than Mila to writhe within that mire? Those juicy feline cheeks dimpled with a lecherous smirk; I knew she wanted more.“Iona…”The cool robe did not stay like that for long. Catching a waft of cooler air, I purred with relief as the oscillating fan tried to undress me. The gossamer fabric fell open and revealed the embonpoint of my breasts.“Hot flush?”She consistently sailed close to the wind.“Mila… just how old do you think I am?”Seeing my pursed-lipped expression, she mused on my question. It kinked her eyebrow, and she gave me that shit-eating grin; she knew how to provoke me.I raised an eyebrow, too, “Guess? I’ll give you a chance to redeem yourself for istanbul travesti a comment like that.”“Thirty? Though… a woman of twenty would kill to have a figure like yours.”“Not old enough for a hot flush then,” it was a peevish smile tempered by her compliment, “…and flattery will not work. I am immune to that, a symptom of being thirty-eight.”Mila was over a decade my junior, and it showed in these moments. I tolerated them because she was an exquisite lover. Some people are bisexual, torture themselves and keep it hidden. A few of them experiment and dabble in it as a passing phase. Mila revelled and excelled at it. Passive with me and aggressive with men, Mila was a contradiction in personality and appearance. Petite and demure in appearance but too outspoken to maintain that mystique. She looked like an angel with azure eyes to get lost in, yet she was a fiend between the sheets.Mila was beautiful and elegant in public and a whore in private. We both knew what we wanted, uninhibited pussy-licking, finger-fucking, and cunt-mashing thrills. Many admired her and pursued her – she was a sublime beauty. The problem was… she knew it, and one day, pride would come before a fall. She had an ego that would make a megalomaniac blush.Mila was many things; she was brutally honest… I liked that. At twenty-five, beautiful and experienced, she was good for my self-esteem – nothing more. I took the time to admire her on my bed. Still in heat, a slender leg straight with her back twisted at the hips. The luscious curve of her behind swept as an enticing arc, and a taut flank hid her sex. I knew I was punching above my weight to have her in my bed.“If it’s lunchtime, Iona. I have something you want to eat….”Uncurling her back and moving her leg, she revealed the smooth hillock of her mons and sex, all candy-pink, swollen and glossy. Her pointed knees rested at ten past ten on a Saturday afternoon. Her hair was unkempt, with two crooked arms resting above her head. She knew this submissive pose tempted the animal from its cage. The mounds of her spectacular breasts stretched across her torso as oversized dinner plates. Each with their long nipples erect, they were impossible to resist. The hypnotic undulation of her hips goaded me; she was art to admire and pornography when the mood took her.“Iona…” tuneful, lusty, she played to my better nature.Peering through the window, I admired Jack again. Nurturing that tell-tale flutter, my body agreed with my mind.“Iona… please,” pleading, needy; Mila did not see my smile.Facing her, I cast my robe from my shoulders; it caressed my arms and laid as a puddle on the floor. On hands and knees, I stalked the bed with impassive eyes that promised nothing. Her piano fingers sought to guide my thigh to her nubile sex, her hips poised to writhe. Those springy teardrop mounds pressed against mine, and my lips grazed hers. This kiss suggested a gentle farewell. Mila did not know yet; she would be gone in twenty minutes.

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